


stolen cogs of the clock

by annica



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Evil, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annica/pseuds/annica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of them are kids that could've been helped. Each of them are ones that the Team didn't save in time. And they're going to remind the League's juniors of that if it's the last thing they do. Dark!Freshmen AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> This has become less a series of oneshots and more a multi-chapter fic so I apologize if it's popping up again for you as I'm editing it to fit that.

He used to think that the term “Changeling” just defined someone who could change their form. However,  _she_ later told him that in European folklore, a changeling referred to the child of mythical creature - a faerie, a demon, a monster - that was left in the place of a human child who had been stolen away.

He supposes it’s still relevant.

He runs his tongue over a pointed tooth, frowning as he waits for the other end of the comm line to pick up.  _She_ always tells him that fiddling like this is inappropriate. Says that it “interferes with his resolve”, and will get in the way of him completing his assignments. 

Changeling disagrees. If anything, it calms him down; gives him a firm surface to gain his footing and grip on the reality of what he has to do. If anything, it  _strengthens_  his resolve.

“Drake to Changeling.”

Finally. He stands up from his previously crouched position and straightens his back, pressing firmly up against the wall. “Is it done?”

“Entire security system is under my control. Cameras are programmed to loop as soon as you get close. The target is on the fourth floor. Room 413.”

“Took your time, Drake.” An ever so slight, mocking smile twitches at the edge of Changeling’s lips as he hears their hacker make an indignant noise.

“Would  _you_  like to try breaking through this many firewalls without attracting the attention of hotel security, or _the League?_  Look Gar, you’ve got eight minutes and thirty-six seconds to get in there and get this done - and that’s only if I can avoid the Oracle pinning down on my signature - so move it.”

“Man, you need to loosen your headphones, Drake.” Fourth floor. 413. Eight minutes. Changeling signs the details off and calculates his way into the room. “Alright. I’m ditching the comm. You know the drill if the League or Team show up.”

“Disappear. Yeah, I know. Shouldn’t have too much trouble though. Savage and Klarion are entertaining the League with their fun in Philadelphia. If the Team turns up, Olympia will provide a distraction for the time needed. Drake out.”

Changeling pulls the comm away from his ear and crushes it into multiple pieces. Upon throwing the remains in different directions, he turns his head up to look at the wall that towers above him. 

A bird to get to the floor. A termite to slip into the window. A dragonfly to get the to room quickly. A beetle to infiltrate the room and get to the target.

A black mamba to finish the job. Then, disappear.

He shifts into the form of a sparrow, stretching out his new wings before he takes off. Normally he’d prefer the form of a much larger bird - it’s his little secret, his forbidden confession, that he loves the feeling of flight; the sensation of cold air filtering through feathers, wind currents holding him aloft.

But an eagle in the centre of Dubai offers far too much chance of exposing their mission, and the Light - and he, Drake and Olympia - have far too much riding on the success of this mission.

He makes his way to room 413 with ease, noting each of the camera flicking as Drake’s magic on them does it’s work. While certainly, a green dragonfly would be barely noticeable - let alone a curiosity - to security folk, their enemies know just what to look for, and know far too much about the Light’s green, shapeshifting assassin.

Changeling slips underneath the door with an estimate of five minutes left on his clock, and immediately starts scanning the room for the target. It’s not hard to find, as the woman is seated in front of the television, eyes trained on the morning news that is currently reporting the League’s occupied nature in America.

There’s probably some cruel irony that ambitious reporter, Sarah Maxwell, is currently watching the League’s distraction from her assassination, but Changeling doesn’t take a moment to appreciate it, slipping right behind her and shifting into the final form he needs for the job.

He used to wonder whether anyone else, any other assassin, felt their minds changing into the malevolent, twisted and horrible creatures that his would whenever he made a kill. The first kill he had made, that sensation of that demon growing inside him had scared him so much that he was terrified to ever do it again.

But of course, that was stupid. Other assassins probably never had that problem. It probably wasn’t even because of the kills. It just had to be a side effect of his powers. He just gained a little more of the beast every time he would shift to kill.

He’ll never ever say out loud how how the sensation will sometimes scare him so much that he wants to pull away and run to the League and beg them to fix what the Light won’t. 

He’ll never, ever, say that out loud.

The black mamba raises itself behind the woman, her attention transfixed on what’s happening on the TV screen. His reptilian senses can feel the blood pumping through the artery in her neck. His mouth opens, fangs extend…

“Mummy!” On instinct, Changeling darts back behind the couch and slips into an ant form. Loud, stumbling legs rush over to to the target, and from the sounds and shifting of movement on the couch, he guesses the target has leant over to hug the intruder.

He crawls over the top of the couch to take in the adjusted scene. The target is hugging a young girl who look remarkably similar to her, and expression of unmistakeable love gracing her face. The girl she is hugging looks about six. Or seven.

She’s probably eight.

If his body wasn’t already encased in an exoskeleton, he would stiffen.

His time would be almost up by now. He needs to get this job done.

Sarah Maxwell pulls herself out from her daughter’s arms and leans back, and Changeling instantly shifts back into the snake and strikes. He empties his venom glands into the woman’s bloodstream, before finally detaching and sliding down off the couch. The woman slackens, and her daughter, upon seeing the snake, screams.

He curses in his head. They weren’t told that the target was going to have her daughter with her. They were assured that the woman would be alone. Simple and easy to dispose of.

They weren’t prepared for  _this_  complication.

At a loss as to what to do, Changeling shifts into his human form and grabs the girl. “Shut up!” He hisses, managing to stop her screaming, and dragging her into the hotel room’s bathroom.

The girl is stiff and silent as he opens one of the cupboard doors in the bathroom and empties it. He shoves the mini shampoo bottles and soaps into the toilet, and directs the girl inside the cupboard.

“Mummy…” the girl whimpers as she curls up into the enclosed space, and Changeling tries to ignore the twinge in his stomach. “Your mum’s gonna be fine,” he growls, “but  _only_  if you stay here and be quiet. Understand?”

He darts his eyes over to the woman, twitching and gasping on the couch, trying to reach out to her daughter. He approximates that she has about twenty minutes to live, five minutes until any chance of getting an antivemon to save her disappears.

Though he doubts any doctor is going to be able to distinguish the snake that bit her from the description of “green”. She’s done for.

He turns back to the girl. “You’re going to stay here and be quiet now,” he hisses, “or…” He quickly shifts into a wolf and bares sharp canine teeth to her. The girl nods, silent and paralyzed, and he shuts the doors; first to the cupboard, then to the bathroom.

Sarah Maxwell is wheezing on the couch, twisting and convulsing as she tries to get oxygen into failing lungs. Changeling ignores her and moves towards the window, pushing it open and shifting back into a sparrow.

He can hear the sounds of a struggle coming from the other side of the building, and Olympia’s strong battle cries echoing clearly towards him. Changeling suppresses the urge to sigh. Of course. Just another complication.

He flaps over to the battle, seeing Olympia holding her own against three members of the League’s secret team - three of them he knows. Superboy is the one who’s pushing the main fighting force onto Olympia, but she’s quicker, and dodges most of his and Miss Martian’s attacks. Nightwing is also down there, set apart from the fighting, looking down at the holograph shining out from his glove.

Whatever he’s trying to pull, Changeling should put a stop to.

Changeling darts down, shifting as he does, into a rhinoceros that tremors the ground as he lands. He charges straight for a brittle-looking tree that’s close by to the former Boy Wonder, and pushes it down with a huge force. Nightwing manages to dodge his way out just in time, but that’s all Changeling needs. He shifts back into his human form to face Olympia. “Time to go!” He yells towards her. “Make sure Drake’s got the order.” He sees her small nod and follows her in flying away from the Justice League’s little soldiers.

As they’re flying away, he feels cold, hard fingers of thought begin to prod at his mind.  _’Wait! Please!’_

He growls and tries to force the intrusion out of his mind, but still, he shift back into his human form to land on the roof of a building, and his head turns towards the source.

She’s right behind him, looking at him with his mother’s face and a broken expression.  _’Please…Garfield…’_

He growls and pushes with all his mental force to get her consciousness out of his. “Get out! Get out of my head!” He can see Olympia lingering by, waiting for him, but he gestures for her leave. “If you have something to say to me, you can say it to my face, and not through my head!”

He is briefly reminded of a moment five years ago, when he darted around her calling her his sister, but he pushes the memory out of his head before it can linger. Miss Martian stares at him steadily, silently pleading to him.

“Gar… _please_  let us help you. Please just come with us and let us  _help you_.”

Changeling snorts. “Right. Because you guys  _really_  know how to  _help people_.” Miss Martian flinches, and he glowers towards her.

“You really want to help? Stay the hell away from me.” He shifts into a falcon and lifts up from the roof, flying away from her.

 

* * *

 

Olympia has clearly blabbed to Drake about his encounter with Miss Martian on the roof, because they both shoot similar looks of concern over to him once he steps into their base. He waves them both off, saying it was “just another dumb ‘heroic’ threat” towards them, and slips into the back room where he knows  _she’s_  waiting.

It’s dark inside, and he feels her before he sees her as long, cold fingers brush against the back of his neck. There’s a seductive quality to her touch, and sometimes, he wonders whether she realizes that her powers stopped working on him a long time ago.

“Miss Sarah Maxwell died on route to a hospital a little over an hour ago,” she murmurs in his ear. “So I assume that there were no complications.”

“You never mentioned that her daughter was going to be with her,” Changeling spits, sending a measured look towards her. “So  _that_ led to a minor complication.”

Queen Bee tilts her head, so he can see the small smirk resting on her lips. “Did you kill the girl?”

“No. It wasn’t in my orders to.”

“And did she see you at all?”

Changeling freezes, remembering the terrified look on the girls face as she saw him. “Yes. She did.” He mutters. “But I don’t think anyone’s really going to believe a story about a green monster attacking her mum.”

“Good…” She crouches down to meet his eyes, searching for any change in them. He wills them to stay as cold and angry as always. After an age of silence, she blinks, straightening back up, and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“You’ve done well, Garfield. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you…mother.”


	2. Proxies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can shred anything and anyone apart, with a silence and subtlety to be envied by assassin colleague. And, if it suits him - if it works in his favor - he will.

It’s almost a shame that firewalls don’t break down with more of a bang. If they did, then every time he shattered one, they would all know about it. They’d all be aware of his skills, his control over hardware, his precision. They’d all realize just how dangerous he can be.

Not that he needs the recognition however; he’s just fine holding the knowledge of how powerful he is in his own head. If he wanted, if they pushed him far enough, he could easily just ‘make a mistake’ one day. He could miss just one camera, expose just one of his ‘associates’ – pin it to the bosses as a technical glitch. He could sabotage any of them at any point he wanted, and just the knowledge of that is enough. He doesn’t need firewalls to explode every time he breaks another down.

Although, the noise from an explosion would drown out all the bangs from the door-slamming habits of his partners.

The crash of the door against its frame is accompanied by a feral growl, and Drake suppresses a sigh as he breaks through yet another government protection code. “Heard you had an encounter with Miss Martian during the mission,” he mutters without turning away from his screens.

Another growl, louder this time, is directed towards him, and he smirks. Sometimes Drake wonders if a day will ever come when Changeling will fully transform into beast, and be stuck that way.

(He hopes not. Even with the twisted natures of their occupations, he feels as close to the assassin as one would imagine friends are.)

There are more growls, and the sound of something being pummeled into behind him. The victim’s most likely a sandbag – it’s not chatty enough to be Arsenal. Somewhat satisfied with the shredded system security and wealth of American government information in front of him, Drake swivels his chair around to face Changeling.

“It must’ve been a really bad encounter if you’re this mad,” he comments, eyes trained on the younger boy panting against the sandbag.

Changeling’s eyes narrow, and he pushes away from the bag, shaking his head. “There was a kid.”

“What?”

“The target had her daughter with her.” Drake can sense the uncontrollable conflict that’s rising in his colleague. Changeling sneers at the bag. _“There was a fucking kid there.”_ A bare, green foot strikes out to hit the bag. “And _they_  decided to not tell us that.”

Drake doesn’t say anything. For the longest-serving and most loyal to the Light of their little club of goons, it has always felt like Gar has been the one who’s also been the most conflicted about their – or more specifically, his – work. It’s hard to pin his motivations down completely; sometimes Drake isn’t sure whether their assassin is more driven by his personal need for vengeance, or the raw animal instinct that is derived from all the forms he shifts into.

Whichever it is, it’s always clear to Drake that Changeling is the one most at odds with his job. How he’s managed to be that way for so long, without the Light noticing and doing something about it, is beyond Drake’s comprehension.

“It was probably a test,” Drake states in a matter-of-fact voice. “How old was the kid?”

“You get one guess,” Changeling mutters, turning around and stalking away from the bag. “And yeah – I  _know_  it was a test. A test to see if I could kill the mother of an eight-year-old. Because  _apparently_  I haven’t proved enough to them that they can trust me to do  _anything_.”

Drake narrows his eyes. “You still did it though, right?” Even he can’t comprehend what the consequences would be if Gar flat out refused to pin a target. Almost no-one has ever dared, and those who did…well, Drake never got the chance to ask them how bad their punishments were.

Changeling scowls. “Of course I still did it. I’m not an idiot.” He slumps down in one of the chair that sit at Drake’s desk, and scans the numbers of documents that have been loaded up onto the screens, before apparently deciding that he doesn’t have the patience to read through them all, and directing his eyes to stare at the floor.

Drake follows him, reading through the documents himself as he saves them all into the appropriate drive for filched information. Between his focus and Changeling’s brooding, it’s a rare moment of silence in the room, before, typically, Changeling breaks it.

“Tim.” Drake stiffens at the use of his first name. It’s a given rule among them all that real names are used sparingly – less chance of personalization and attachment. “Do you ever…” Gar continues, eyes darting around to room to ensure no-one is within earshot. “Do you ever feel like we’re just being…like they’re constantly just pulling and poking us along to make sure we all stay in line?”

Drake doesn’t move his gaze from the screens. “You mean, manipulated?”

“Yeah. That.”

He clicks ‘print’ on one of the documented blueprints on his screens. “I  _know_  you and the others are,” he says. “I’m not.” The printer starts whirring away and Drake slides his chair over to it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finally looking over to him, Drake notes the fists that Changeling had clenched his hands into, having stood up from his chair to stand in what Drake has noticed to be his “intimidation pose”. Knees apart, hands in fists, slightly hunched, face glaring.

Of course, to people who have no idea what he’s capable of, Gar’s “intimidation pose” wouldn’t much do it’s job; the kid barely hits five feet tall, and the green skin, pointed canines and messy hair make him look almost comical.

Those who do know of his achievements also know that it’s bad news for them when the Changeling gets like this.

Tim Drake, however, is in neither of those two parties.

“It means that the Light has some sort of hold over you, Olympia and all of the others. Something that they can manipulate and tug at to make sure you guys do your job. Queen Bee’s been your guardian for what, five years? And she’s promised that you’ll get your vengeance on the Team. Everyone else is forced to stick around for similar reasons.” Drake shrugs. “But not me. They’ve got no hold over me.”

Changeling is silent as the printer finished spitting out the blueprints and Drake picks them up and spreads them over the table. He silently notes the multiple entrances and exits, and vantage points for camera installations; his brain already working on the setup for their next mission.

“Why don’t you leave, then?” Changeling says quietly, snapping Drake out of his concentration. He looks up at the shaded assassin, who meets his gaze with furrowed eyebrows. Not a glower, like his usual expression, but a confused – and almost, if Drake looks hard enough, caring – frown, as if he genuinely can’t understand why Tim would stick around.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

The expression snaps away back to his usual glare, and Changeling growls, walking off. “Forget it,” he mutters.

Just before the ever-so resonant slam echoes through the room, Drake calls out. “Don’t go too far,” he says. “We’re supposed to be meeting the new guy in an hour. Inducting him into ‘the club’.”

“What new guy?”

“Some Atlantean.” Drake shrugs. “Calls himself the ‘Lagoon Monster’. Not much data on him.” Changeling replies with a slam of the door, and Drake is finally left to the noise of his computers humming.

Until he hears the pop.

A message window, accompanied by a sickly green avatar of woman’s face, has appeared on one of a dozen screens. Drake’s eyes narrow, and he approaches the console warily.

_**ORACLE:** You know, with the amount of creativity you utilize in your hacking skills, I have to say, I’m disappointed in the lack of that same creativity in your choice of a codename._

Instantly, Drake pulls up one of the system windows and tracks through his proxy line, trying to find the anomaly. The window closes on him.

_**ORACLE:** I wouldn’t bother trying to cut off my frequency. You’ll be wasting your time._   
_**DRAKE:** How did you get into my system?_   
_**ORACLE:** I’d offer to teach you how if you weren’t working for the Light. Which is a shame, really. You’ve got a lot of potential to be much more than this, Timothy Jackson Drake._

He grits his teeth. Oh, he knows all about the amount of ‘missed potential’ he has.

He once again tries to circle down on Oracle’s intruding link, this time on a separate machine. He could use her frequency to hitch onto to gain access to the information at her end – if he could only just find her…

_**DRAKE:** So how much do you know about me?_   
_**ORACLE:** Would you like me to compile a list?_   
_**DRAKE:** Well, I’d want to make sure you haven’t missed anything._   
_**ORACLE:** Timothy Jackson Drake. Born July 19, 2001. You mother, Janet, passed away when you were six. Your father, Jack, remarried to Dana Winters, and over the past few years, has become inaccessible due to travel and work. You spent much of your childhood entertaining yourself, teaching yourself ways around technology, and, becoming quite the little detective. You discovered the identity of the Batman, and approached him two years ago, after the death of the second Robin._

Drake tries to ignore his aching knuckles as he clenches his fists tighter, and continues to search through proxy doors.

_**ORACLE:** You went to Batman explaining how much he ‘needed’ a Robin, and offered yourself to be the next Robin. He turned you down. Hard. Your activity quietened down a fair bit after that, until you somehow managed to get under the attention of the Light. They offered something – god knows what it could have been – and you enlisted to work under them._   
_**DRAKE:** They didn’t offer me anything._   
_**ORACLE:** A good kid like you doesn’t just decide to work for a criminal organisation, Timothy. There had to have been some reason._   
_**DRAKE:** Maybe I'm just not as good a kid as you think I am._   
_**ORACLE:** I don't believe that. What's the real reason, Timothy?_

Got it. Slipped through one of his firewalls. He can’t help but admit to himself that the Oracle is impressive.

_**DRAKE:** I’m going to be better._

Hitching onto the frequency, Drake programs his own frequency to ride down to her end.

_**ORACLE:** What?  
_ _**DRAKE:** I’m going to be better than him._

As he’s just about ready to pound through her firewalls, Oracle presumably notices his hack, and the transmission ends abruptly, green avatar fading off the screen. Despite the fact that he couldn’t get into Oracle’s system (which he admits, would have been impossible to do anyway, despite jumping onto her own line), Drake smirks.

The smirk disappears however, as he notes that this is the second time in one day that one of the Justice League’s workers have tried to reach out to someone on their little team. And although, he can assure himself that Changeling is most definitely in too deep to be dragged out, and that anything they try won’t rattle him as much as they would the assassin, it’s still an instance that he’d prefer won’t become a habit of the Team’s.

Sure, his initial motivations – including his initial induction into the Light’s employment – had been about gaining the attention of Bruce Wayne, of the Batman, trying to prove that he was worthy enough to be Robin.

But a lot had changed since then. Now, just the attention and approval of the Batman isn’t enough.

He needs to do more than just get the Batman to nod his head.

He needs to beat him.

And really, the Light is just another proxy in a hugely complicated hacking scheme in order to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mostly used Tim's DCU verse background for his background in this AU. I also apologize profusely if my lack of hacking knowledge showed.


	3. Gods and Pariahs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a god: control, power, promise of the greatest things for just the price of your soul. Then there's a pariah: chaos, attitude, promise of a wide range of these little silly things, all given freely.

Some religions are against the construction of images of their gods; she had learnt that in her seventh grade correspondence class. She was in Greece with her mum, shackled to thick books about religions of the old and new, while Helena dug through their histories.

She hadn’t gotten far into her knowledge of the Gods of Ancient Greek at the time, but if they were one of the religions that couldn’t give their deities faces, Cassie was screwed in that aspect. During a short reprieve from her schoolwork, she had found herself exploring some of the grass covered enclaves around the area, one of which, she had found a thin, golden piece of rope.

Her instinct for the past year has been to believe, that if she had known where it would lead her, she would never have picked up the lasso.

But more and more often, with every new day holding this amount of power, Olympia finds herself edging closer and closer to the belief that if faced with the situation again, she would make the exact same choice – despite the consequences it has brought her.

\- _“This lasso will give you more power than you could ever dream of having.”_ His voice was deep – guttural. _“Fuelled by war, the conflict of men – with this lasso in your possession, you will rise above them all. You will be a goddess, a divine being in their eyes.”_ Ares drew closer with the whisper of a death-coloured breath. _“You will be my prophet to the human world.”_ –

She strides into the empty living quarters of their little ‘team’ with a frown on her face. After Changeling had debriefed the job to Queen Bee, he had followed Drake’s path straight to the mission control room, clearly avoiding Olympia so to not be asked about what had happened on the roof in Dubai.

Neither she nor Drake had decided to tell Queen Bee of Changeling’s little reunion with his ‘sister’ on their mission, but that didn’t mean that Changeling wouldn’t. Olympia had noticed that their assassin tended to display a fatal loyalty complex when it came to their employers.

She isn’t entirely sure about him. Granted, he has been under Queen Bee’s thumb and on the job for years longer than her, and would most definitely be more influenced by lessons of the Light than of some long lost connection to the Justice League’s ‘Covert Team’ - but sometimes she finds herself wondering, if _he_ ever wonders. 

But so far, on the surface at least, Changeling has shown no nature of questioning towards their orders or bosses (as for Drake - well, Cassie is quite certain that no-one really knows what is going on in his head).

Much unlike the fourth member of their group.

Arsenal kicks the door to their quarters open, the ever present cocky grin gracing his face. He winks at Olympia and lies on the couch with his arms folded behind his head, and the golden sheen of his bionic arm glints. 

Olympia rolls her eyes. "Do I even _want_ to ask why you're so chipper tonight?"

"Oh, just the wonderful pleasure that comes from doing my job," Arsenal kicks off his boots. "Do you want to know what I did today? I think you do."

"Let me guess." Throwing his legs off the couch, Olympia seats herself on one of the cushions. "It _didn't_ involve staying at base like you were told to do."

"Huh. You know, I've never really pegged you for the brainy type, Olympia. Beauty and brawn, sure - but who knew you had a mind under all that blonde hair?"

Her lasso is in her hand and wrapped around Arsenal's neck in that same amount of time that his bionic arm has shifted into its gun form and pressing on her temple. Olympia growls, tightening the golden cord around Roy's neck as a smirk draws across his face. 

"Still as easy to get a bite out of as always, Cass." He leans forward, the gun pulling back in to make room for his metal hand to move behind her head and push her forward for her lips to meet his. Her grip on the lasso loosens as she pulls on his lips with her teeth and he tugs at her blonde locks. 

When her brain is finally able to peel her body away, she notes the cocky smirk that still graces Roy's lips. She scowls, sending a fist to lightly (by her scale) hit him square in the diaphragm. Arsenal's heavy breathing is cut off with a wheeze and he clutches his stomach to roll off the couch with a thump. 

"Luthor and Bee are going to kill you one day, you know," Olympia says, wiping saliva off from her face. "They're going to kill you and I'm going to just stand there and watch."

Arsenal laughs between gasps for air. "As if _they'd_ get their hands dirty for someone like me," he chuckles. "Nah, they won't kill me. They'll just get their special green assassin to do the dirty work for them. You know, like they do with everything else."

Cassie immediately looks towards the door, making sure it's closed and Changeling - or anyone - isn't around to hear Arsenal's typical spiel. 

"Or maybe I'll be a special case. Maybe they'll get _you_ to take your first kill in me." Arsenal snorts as Olympia begins to walk away. "Do me a favour, Cass. If you're the one who has to kill me, make it quick, okay? I mean, you can make it as messy as you like, but at least-"

"Will you _ever_ stop?" Cassie knocks a mug off the counter as she snaps. The ceramic shatters as it hits the floor. "Fuck, do you _want_ them to make me kill you?" Arsenal's eyebrows raise a fraction. 

"I'd rather you did it over anyone else."

"Well _I_ wouldn't."

She kneels down to pick up the shards of splintered ceramic, facing her back towards him and growling at the floor. Pulling a face, Arsenal stands up to watch her over the back of the couch. 

"I had no idea you cared so much, _Olympia_."

She only allows the clinks of the broken mug to sound out from her end for a while. They _tink_ and _clink;_ little fairy wind-chimes being soiled and destroyed by the surface of a place like this. Any magic the small noises could have held are smothered instantly by the sickness found in this place.

After picking up the final pieces, Cassie continues to sit there, refusing to look at Arsenal. 

When she finally speaks her voice is quiet, but still hard enough to carry its bite. ""Of course I care,” she says, “I'm not _mad_ like you." 

Arsenal's smirk is sanded down into a soft up-tilt of his lips. "Please," he clears his throat and jumps over the couch to walk towards her. "If any of us had even a shred of sanity, we wouldn't be going along with this job."

He passes Olympia to step behind the counter and pull out a trash can. He sets it down next to her, and kneels himself to help clean up the mess. “Besides,” he mutters, grabbing the flakes of ceramic out from Cassie’s hands, “Just because my head’s not all right, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

The pieces of mug fall into the bin with a clatter, and Olympia forces her legs to move. She stands up and turns away from Roy, pulling her lasso out from her belt and cradling it in her hands. Maybe now’s a good time to call him on. Maybe she can rid herself of one obstacle, rid herself of a possible future problem. There’d be no guilt in it. After all, who can control a god of war?

“Olympia. Arsenal.” Cassie drops her hands, and both heads in the room turn to look at Drake, standing by the door of their quarters. “Meeting with The Queen. Move.”

“A meeting?” Arsenal drops the bin he was carrying with a loud clatter. “What the hell? We had a briefing with her this morning.”

Drake looks worn, staring emotionless at their teammate. “Newcomer. We’re meeting him.”

“Who is it? Why the hell do we need a new member anyway? What makes this guy special?”

“I don’t ask questions,” Drake says. “Neither should you. Move.” He brings a hand up to run through his hair and sighs, his exhale making a rebel strand dance in front of his eyes.

It’s that action that piques Cassie’s ever-so-troublesome curiosity.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “You look like you’ve had your feathers ruffled.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Drake darts his glance between Olympia and Arsenal. “Just hurry up. You know she hates tardiness.”

He walks out through the door, and Arsenal sends a shrug in Cassie’s direction before following close behind. Cassie looks down once again at her lasso, and, once she is sure the room is abandoned, summons him.

_“This better be good, child.”_

Olympia ignores his tone; ignores his words and the stink in his breath. “First Changeling during the mission, now Drake has been thrown out of his normal self. Tell me.” She stares at the figure of Ares, hard. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

The God of War exhales, a shuddering noise of gunshots and grenades. _“Why would I want to do anything to these toys you call teammates?”_

“Well, if it hasn’t been you, what is it?”

_“You should trying turning your suspicion to the mortal world, girl. Something is changing here. Something that could lead to be a detriment to our plans.”_

Cassie turns her gaze towards the door. She should get going. “Sorry Ares, but _your_ plans aren’t really a priority of mine at the moment.”

Ares hisses. It sounds of children screaming. _“You’d be wise to watch your tongue girl. I gave you your power. You work for_ me. _”_

Cassie snorts, and twirls the lasso around her arm. “You’re forgetting one thing, Oh Mighty Warlord.” Her eyes shoot back to meet the dark pits of his, and a savage grin, the grin of a winning general, forms across her face. “ _I’m_ the one with the lasso, remember?” Another twirl. “That means _I’m_ the one in control here.”  Another. “ _You_ have to submit to _me._ ”

She twirls the golden rope once more before fitting it back onto her waist. “Begone now, minion,” she says. “I’ll call you back when it’s time for you to fufill _my_ plans.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Titans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826118) by [Popinbunnies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popinbunnies/pseuds/Popinbunnies)




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